Disclaimer: If I own the characters? That’s hardly the case. I can’t even get them to behave the way I’d like them to.


This piece would have died a lonely death in a tightly shut drawer if it had not been for my wonderful beta shuldham. Once again, it’s been a true pleasure!

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Shortbreads


Hermione surveyed the intricate pattern of books, scrolls and notebooks before she exhaled deeply and reached for a shortbread from the tin, which plugged the fractional space between Moste Potente Potions and the ink jar. In an attempt to ponder the next step in her brewing assignment, she had, for the last hour, rearranged her notes. Now, finally, her mind was well enough acquainted with the material to move to the next level. A couple of years ago, she would have fretted at the seemingly non-productive time of book shuffling, but she had come to understand that true ideas have to be lured out with patience rather than with force.

The sudden shade that fell over her notes told her that Professor Snape had joined her. He loomed by her desk in order to…ah, well, who knew? Maybe, he would just look over her shoulder, or sneer at her, or offer his help in the most offhand way possible. Either way, as she was too deeply immersed in her thoughts to care, she simply nibbled at her shortbread and extended the biscuit tin to him in a mute offering.

Taken aback at this absentminded act of familiarity, Snape surprised himself by accepting one of the buttery treats. They both contemplated the scene while nibbling away. Snape was the one to break the silence.

‘Are these shortbreads not identical to the ones that Minerva keeps?’

His insides squirmed with sudden unease; Small talk, and he was doing it. Luckily, Miss Granger did not seem to appreciate the strangeness.

‘Mmm,’ she finally responded. ‘They, actually, are Minerva’s shortbreads. She insists on me eating at least ten every time we have tea, so I have resorted to smuggling them out for later.’ With the casual elegance of the absentminded, Hermione Scourgified her fingers before making a note on one of the scrolls.

‘Whatever for? Why would Minerva do that?’ Oh rot! He could not help asking her.

Smiling slyly down at the parchment, Hermione softly remarked, ‘I suspect she fears that I am left in the dungeons to starve.’

He was perplexed, but there was no mistake. She was so at ease with him that she did not mind provoking one of his snide answers. Even worse, he was being sucked in. He knew very well what he should do about it. He ought to tick that ever-chatty, cosy, little Gryffindor off for bringing food into the laboratory office.

The plonk of the biscuit tin meeting solid wood put a halt to his reverie. He had to act quickly. No sooner had the first menacing syllable launched from his tongue, than he had to abruptly bite back his reprimand at the sight of yet another shortbread pinched between his thumb and forefinger. With mounting anxiety, he raised his hand to his eyes, but despite his scrutiny he could not find anything amiss with the object in his hand. In all its innocent greasiness, the shortbread was simply shortbread. He afforded it a contemptuous snort.

'Quite so, I agree,' Hermione murmured vaguely.

Snape looked at his apprentice who, judging by the faraway look in her eyes, was oblivious of everything in the world save her kingdom of notes. One thing was certain: he would have to watch out for Miss Granger.

He gathered his robes around him and retreated to his own desk. Not knowing where to put the cursed thing, he took a bite at the biscuit. He had never expected that he would come to, literally, eat his shortcomings. The rustle of sliding parchments made him cast a furtive glance at the scribbling woman at the other end of the room. He rapidly found that he would get a better angle to make his observations if he shifted his chair slightly. As her desk offered only a limited space, Miss Granger had begun to Levitate the literature. Now, she read the massive tome that hovered at a convenient distance in front of her. Slowly, gliding in mid-air, the quills and scrolls formed her bookish entourage. A little further off, the biscuit tin made an odd satellite.

Snape sank back in his chair. Yes, from here on, he would have to watch Miss Granger very carefully.





Finis